


Summertime in Marseille

by orphan_account



Series: Killing Eve + Hannibal Crossovers [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe- Crossover, Dark Will Graham, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Dubious Morality, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Eve is extremely conflicted, F/F, Food is (sometimes) people, Hopeful Ending, M/M, POV Eve Polastri, Past Eve Polastri/Niko Polastri - Freeform, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Semi-Dark Eve Polastri, These relationships are not healthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 19:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18644968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Murder wives across the pond?The London area manhunt for pay to play assassin Oksana Astankova continues tonight after the gruesome discovery of the bodies of two M16 agents and the unsettling disappearance of a third. The missing agent Eve Polastri’s checkered history with the femme fatale stirs up a sense of deja-vu to a case stateside involving the (still unsolved) disappearance of a certain disgraced psychiatrist turned psychopath and his companion Will Graham. Both pairs vanished without a trace leaving behind only a couple of corpses in the hands of, debatetly inept, law enforcement. Longtime readers will remember the debacle on the rumours of the relationship between Lecter and Graham. Fresh faces should expect much of the same insight when it comes to Astankova and Polastri.-Freddie Lounds [Tattlecrime.com]Or: Villanelle takes Eve to visit an old friend.





	Summertime in Marseille

**Author's Note:**

> This is entirely self indulgent. I’m usually not a huge fan of crossovers but these two shows are so similar it just needed to be done.

_Murder wives across the pond?_

 

_The London area manhunt for Russian  assassin Oksana Astankova continues tonight after the gruesome discovery of the bodies of two M16 agents and the unsettling disappearance of a third. The missing agent Eve Polastri’s checkered history with the femme fatale stirs up a sense of deja-vu to a case stateside involving the (still unsolved) disappearance of a certain disgraced psychiatrist turned psychopath and his companion Will Graham. Both pairs vanished without a trace leaving behind only a couple of corpses in the hands of, debatetly inept, law enforcement. Longtime readers will remember the debacle on the rumours of the relationship between Lecter and Graham. Fresh faces should expect much of the same insight when it comes to Astankova and Polastri._

  


_-Freddie Lounds [Tattlecrime.com]_

  
  


Eve opens her eyes to the loud running of a faucet and the fluorescent ceiling light that is a staple of shit tier English motels. From her position she can see through the half cracked door to a chipped blue tiled bathroom. Villanelle is standing at the sink filling up a plastic cup with tap water. She takes a delicate sip then pulls a disgusted face before turning in Eve’s direction. Eve screws her eyes shut and lies as still as possible.

  
  


“I know you’re awake Eve.” Villanelle leaves the bathroom and kneels next to Eve wearing what Eve imagines to be a teasing smirk. “Would you like another aspirin?” She continues, her words followed by the light shaking of a pill bottle. Eve groans, suddenly aware of the throbbing in the back of her skull.“You’re due soon. I took a pretty strong swing. Had to be done. You were completely flipping your shit!” Villanelle snorts.

  
  


“You..brought me with you?” Eve mumbles her own voice sounding distorted.

  
  


“Of course. I wasn’t going to let them Carolyn lock that beautiful face of yours away!” Eve’s brow wrinkles as she pushes at the pain searching her mind for where she’d been before passing out. She sits up using the headboard for leverage.“You did off an intelligence officer.” Villanelle giggles shoving the glass of water into Eve’s shaking hands. “Technically I dealt the final blow, snapping his neck. That man was a twig.” She laments. “No idea how he was allowed into field work. You did shoot him in the shoulder though!  Left some lovely pollock splatters on Carolyn’s wallpaper.” Eve tenses at the mention of her former mentor.

  
  


“Carolyn. Is she….?” The question hangs in the air between the two women Villanelle seeming more than content to keep Eve held in suspense. She leans forward cupping Eve’s jaw with her palm.

  
  


“Open.” Eve complies and Villanelle drops a pill on her tongue stroking her cheek reassuringly before pulling away. “Carolyn is uninjured Eve. The look on her face when you saved me! _Priceless_. I wanted her to live so she could make many more like it.”

  
  


Eve blinks the older woman’s shocked expression flashing across her vision. She swallows the pill half choking on the water she chases it down with. Jumbled memories overwhelm her.

  
  
  


Villanelle standing on Carolyn’s dining table brandishing twin steak knives, her eyes full of mirth and rage. A car sliding into a mud filled ditch. A thin dark skinned man she’s never seen in her life aiming his handgun at Vilanelle’s head. Eve’s own hands shaking as she raises a pistol. Nikos ringtone blaring through her cell phone speakers. The round O of his mouth when her bullet found its home in his shoulder. The peal of Villanelles surprised laugh. Carolyn’s voice cold and calculating. The hilt of Villanelles knife protruding from the chest of an agent who’d reached the house before they had. A sharp pain in the back of her head. Her face, cool against the marble of Carolyn’s kitchen floor. A sob, two gunshots and then darkness.

  
  


Eve sways in place gripping the side table with white knuckles. She feels absent, dissociated from this entire experience. Villanelle chews her lip and stares down at Eve concerned.

  
  


“Huh.” Eve’s vision is spotting, Villanelles face no longer in focus. “I think I overdid the diazepam.” Eve falls forward, unconscious again before her face hits the mattress.

  
  


She wakes up, once to the overpowering smell of Chinese takeout and twice more to Villanelles patient hands offering water and painkillers. Eve has no idea how long she lives in the haze of half awareness but when she come back to herself, fully this time, she is shivering in a lukewarm bathtub wearing only a camisole and the undergarments she’d been wearing the morning she’d gone to find Villanelle.

  
  


“Villanelle?” Eve’s voice is a dry croak. The pain in her head has been replaced by a gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach.

  
  


“Bonjour ma belle endormie!”  Villanelles head pokes around the corner her hair platinum blonde, a much lighter shade of than Eve remembers seeing before she’d passed out.

  
  


“Are we in Paris?” Eve pushes a sweaty tendril of hair out of her face.

  
  
  


“Do you want to go back to Paris?” Villanelle smiles softly.” We had some good times there didn’t we.”

  
  
  


“All I want right now is something to eat.” Eve groans sinking beneath the water. When she breaks the surface Villanelle is sitting legs crossed beside her cradling a plastic bag.

  
  
  


“I already went to some shops to get my hair dye. I figured you’d be hungry.”

  
  
  


“You weren’t worried someone would spot you?” Eve leans over the side of the tub and reaches for the bag.

  
  
  


“Everyone thinks I took you and bolted. It would be _crazy_ to stay in London after everything we did!” Villanelle hands Eve a lemon müller yoghurt and a plastic spoon. Eve’s never liked this particular flavor but she takes it anyways, peeling off the paper lid and digging right  in.

  
  
  


“Yet here we are, hiding in plain sight.” Eve wonders if the other woman can still hear her sarcasm through the mouthful of yoghurt.

  
  
  


“Not for long Eve.” Villanelle tsks fluffing her hair in the bathroom mirror. “I was in the middle of getting you cleaned up. We’ve got a date with the Eurostar.”

  
  
  


“Are you insane?” Eve sputters. “You really think a new perm is going to get you past security?” Villanelle looks down at Eve in a way that is starting to feel more than a bit patronizing.

  
  
  


“I have a connection at the station.” Villanelle pulls a few toiletries from her shop bag and lays them down next to Eve neglecting to explain further. “Use these instead.” She instructs. “The hotel brand is quite shit.”

  
  


Villanelle leaves her alone after that, slipping back into the bedroom while Eve takes her bath. Afterwards she stands on shaking legs feeling like she hasn’t walked for weeks, although realistically Villanelle couldn’t have kept her here for more than a couple days. She leaves the wet clothes in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor smiling a to herself about Villanelles frivolous commitment to her modesty. Eve wraps herself in the hotels disproportionately small bath towel and joins Villanelle in the bedroom. Smelling strongly of the strawberries from her posh shampoo.

  
  
  


“Clothes?” Eve pulls the towel tighter around her waist as she stares at the assassin who is  sprawled out on the bed watching what looks to be an American game show.

  
  
  


“Right over there.” Villanelle points toward the closet where she’s hung a few outfit choices for Eve. Eve sorts through a few jacket slacks combos but opts for a creme and red checkered cotton tie-waist dress.

  
  
  


She goes back into the bathroom to change wincing when she gets her first good look in the mirror. Eve’s hair is slicked to the sides of her extremely puffy face, a side effect of all the diazepam Villanelle been dosing her with. There’s not a hint of concealer on the counter to cover up some of the spots she’s gotten from going without washing her face for at least 24 hours. But why would there be? Eve isn’t the only one with a high stress job but Villanelles the only one to have been blessed with unnaturally perfect skin.

  
  
  


Eve earns a tight lipped smile and an ominous creak from the mattress when she sits next to Villanelle.

  
  


“I see your sense of style is still evolving.” Villanelle notes as she gives Eve’s outfit a once over.

  
  


“What are you _doing_ Villanelle.” Eve sighs. “What’s your plan now? To spend the rest of your life running from the authorities dragging me along behind you?”

  
  
  


“You _can_ leave Eve. The door isn’t guarded. It Isn't locked. You can go back to Carolyn Martens and the intelligence agency and your whiny little husband any time you like. You can go face charges, just for perverting the course of justice if you’re lucky. You can spend the rest of your life in that boring little townhouse wondering where I am, what I’m doing, who I’m taking home with me at night and who I’m _killing_. Or you can give in to what we both know you have wanted for so long. Satisfy your fascination Eve. Stay with me.”

  
  


Eve lets herself fall into the slightly scratchy embrace of the hotels comforter. She rolls on her side and she’s facing Villanelle. Villanelle slides closer until they’re in the same position they shared in Paris. Villanelles eyes stare into Eve’s, unabashedly searching for a sign of the affect her words have on the other woman. The last time they’d been this intimate Villanelle had left with a stab wound. This time Eve isn’t sure either of them will leave at all.

  
  
  


“What do you want Eve Polastri. Honestly.” Villanelle’s voice is uncharacteristically gentle. Honey smooth.

  
  
  


“I want to know you. _Really_ know you.” Eve admits. “Beyond that? I don’t have a clue.”

  
  
  


“There’s a sex joke begging to be made in there.”  Villanelle points out.

  
  
  


“Don’t ruin the moment.” Eve warns putting a tentative hand on Villanelles exposed shoulder. The other woman reaches a hand up to her shoulder and casually slips Eve’s hand inside her own.

  
  
  


“I want you to know me Eve. _Every_ part of me. This is going to take a while. You can’t expect me to do justice to my life story in a shoddy motel..”

  
  
  


“Where are we going on the Eurostar?” Eve relents, slowly pulling her hand from Villanelles firm grip.

  
  
  


“Couples counseling.” Villanelle face is completely straight. “I know a miracle worker.”

  
  
  


Two hours later they are sitting together on a train to Marseille. Villanelle’s contact had gotten them inside the station and past security without so much as a suspicious glance. Eve had spent the entire time they waited to board entirely expecting a SWAT team to storm the platform but it never happened.  She wasn’t quite sure if she was disappointed.

  
  
  


Since the train to Marseille was a little over seven hours Villanelle had bought herself a paperback copy of some trashy new young adult novel. She’d  also taken it upon herself to find a true crime bestseller for Eve among the stations magazine racks. Eve herself had insisted on only one thing before they’d left London. A stint to an in station candy shop very similar to the location where she’d stress eaten half of Paris’ stock of nougat.

  
  


Both women had filled their pink candy cane striped paper bags until they were absolutely bursting. The teenager behind the register had watched with a mixture of irritation and awe as they’d darted from container to container cranking the dials. Eve had gone for familiarity while Villanelle’s bag was populated exclusively by the most obscure mix of foreign label sweets in the shop.

  
  


Although the tension between Eve and Villanelle was still ever present the seats themselves are comfortable enough. Eve takes the seat by the window, curling herself up against the far wall and trying her best to enjoy the limited view while picking through her candy bag. Villanelle is in the aisle seat idly flipping through the first couple chapters of her book. For a while Eve just watches the other woman read, guiltily enjoying the way her eyes go wide whenever she comes across something particularly scandalizing.

  
  
  


“Are we really going to meet someone you know in Marseilles?” Eve eventually asks.

  
  
  


Villanelle yawns, marking her page before answering.

  
  


“Yes. I have a psychiatrist friend who’d be very interested in seeing us. Meeting _you_.”

  
  
  


“You have _friends_ ?” Eve jeers. “ _Actual_ friends that aren’t other contract killers you’re teaming up with to kill a target? There are people who’ve made your acquaintance that you aren’t actively trying to murder?” Villanelle scowls and for a moment Eve’s worried she’s laid it on a bit too thick. The more time she spends with Villanelle the easier it seems to forget how dangerous she can be when provoked [or unprovoked for that matter] But then Villanelle smiles and Eve thinks that maybe she enjoys her teasing.

  
  
  


“We met when I was in Florence after a hit. It was one of my firsts actually. I decided to go out celebrating. He was working as a museum curator then. He introduced himself in an exhibit. I am _not_ trying to kill him. That would be extremely stupid of me. I haven’t been able to see him person for years although we’ve kept in contact. Letters mostly. He’s not overly fond of texting.” Villanelle laughs to herself.

  
  
  


“Is there a purpose to going to see him or is this a purely pleasure trip?” She frowns.

  
  
  


“He likes to mentor the younger generation.” Villanelle smiles cryptically.

  
  
  


“Does he know what you are?”

  
  
  


“Yep. He won’t turn me in Eve. He’d find that rude. He’s assured me that if I’m ever in a situation I can feel free to come to him for help. And I’m taking him up on that offer. Whatever kind of help he’s offering.”

  
  
  


“Whatever kind of help he’s offering…” Eve repeats. And then for a while, they are quiet.

  
  
  


Eve thought that she would be just about maxed out on sleep. When questioned Villanelle had offhandedly mentioned that Eve had been in her haze for nearly two days. But after virtually inhaling her entire candy stash she spends the rest of the ride to Marseilles in a chocolate induced coma. She wakes to the soft hum of the trains intercom system and Villanelle sound asleep on her shoulder. Eve gently pushes Villanelle’s body back her seat immediately missing the warmth of the other woman’s body in the chilly cabin.

  
  
  


“Attention passengers!  We will reach our destination in the next five minutes. Please prepare to disembark at Marseilles Saint Charles station. Head straight to the beach or to your hotel by tram, metro, bus or taxi. If you’re travelling further along the coast to explore the calanques, considering picking up a rental car. We hope you enjoyed your ride!”  


  
  


When the train comes to a stop Eve reaches across their seats to wake up Villanelle. Who’s still snoring lightly into the armrest in spite of the absolute chaos of impatient passengers clamoring to be the first off the train. Villanelle mutters curses in a language she’s unfamiliar with as she takes swats at Eve’s hand.

  
  


“Villanelle we’re here.” Eve shakes her harder and the assassin sits up groaning in protest.

  
  


“Welcome to Marseille Eve!” Villanelle throws her hands wide and yells as they make there way down the wide steps of the Saint Charles train station towards the fleet of black taxis at the bottom of the hill. A group of tourists smile at her over the top enthusiasm while a well dressed businessman wearing a white earpiece glares. Villanelle was sluggish in the station only perking up after a quick stop for coffee before hitting security. Her connection at the other end of the line had been barely civil angrily jabbering to Villanelle in French about “faveurs dues” but in the end they’d gotten through without an issue.

  
  
  


Eve had wondered if their mysterious benefactor would meet them at the station but it turns out Villanelle has other plans to spend what is shaping up to be a very sunny French afternoon. The whole thing still feels surreal to Eve as Villanelle grabbed her hand and tugs her into the backseat of a waiting taxi. She is touring Marseille with the woman who had murdered her best friend in cold blood. The woman she had stabbed. The woman who had tailed her around London and left mangled bodies as love letters. Eve looks at her reflection in the taxi and wonders who the _hell_ she’s becoming.

  
  


Villanelle directs the driver towards a Les Docks Villages, a shopping mall in Marseille’s business district. Once they arrive she takes the lead showing  Eve the buildings beautiful restored courtyards. And of course dragging her through fashion boutiques so expensive that Eve is afraid to breathe around the merchandise.

  
  
  


In the end they purchase a sundress each, as well as a bathing suit Villanelle insists they will need for the beaches. Villanelles dress is white and flowing cut through with transparent lace sleeves that carry to her elbows. She pairs it with some tan lace up sandals and overpriced pearl earrings. She looks just as stunning as ever, even the bedhead she’s had since her nap on the Eurostar just adds to a slightly tousled casual look. Eve’s is a light blue with decorative brown buttons. Villanelle finds her golden rose shaped earrings and even though Eve decides to stay with the flats she’s worn since the abduction [much to Villanelles disappointment] she can’t deny the detour has put her in a much more holiday ready mood.

  
  
  


Afterwards they take an early lunch at Chez Marco an Italian restaurant that overlooks the crowded nearby beach, Plague Du Prophete. They agree to split a plate of seafood pasta and oysters. It’s the first time they’ve had a real conversation since the train. After the waiters piles an obnoxiously large amount of shredded parmesan on top of their meal Villanelle begins.

  
  
  


“Is it less shitty than you thought it would be? Traveling with me?” Villanelle cracks open an oyster shell and sucks out the innards.

  
  
  


“I knew you preferred things fancy. It’s not like I was expecting dark alleys tinted sunglasses and  fake beards.”

  
  


Villanelle laughs “Actually I’ve been known to do fake beards.” Eve raises an eyebrow. “Konstantin’s birthday. He didn’t find it very funny.” She admits.

  
  


“I haven’t been on a vacation this nice in ages. Niko and I always talked about it but the timing was never quite right for his job-”

  
  


“And then I came along.” Villanelle cuts her off. “You’ll find I’m better than your husband at a lot of things.” She smirks.

  
  


Eve lets her mind wonder to Niko for a moment. It’s not a good choice. There’s no way to let him know she’s safe. She hasn’t seen her cell phone since the chaos of Carolyn Martens house and though she secretly suspects Villanelle might be screening her calls just for the fun of it it’s more likely that it’s laying smashed to pieces in an evidence locker somewhere. It isn’t hard to imagine what he must think. She not sure what’s  worse- Niko thinking she’s dead or the thought of her husband having enough insight to guess where her fascination has led her.

  
  


“I don’t want to talk about Niko.” She tells Villanelle as firmly as she can manage.

  
  
  


“Neither do I Eve. I want to talk about _me_.” She grins.

  
  


Eve twirls a piece of linguini on her fork. She has so many questions for Villanelle. But now that she’s sitting here with the opportunity to get answers she has no idea where to start.

  
  
  


“What do you feel when you kill someone?” Eve lowers her voice.  Villanelle contemplates her response.

  
  


“That’s something you told me you thought about in Paris.” She points out.

  
  
  


“Yes. That and what you wear. What you eat. Who your friends are. I know what you wear now.” She smiles gesturing at the sundress and the shopping bags piled beneath their feet. “So far you eat a mixture of high end fare and subpar fast food. I smelled that takeout back in London.” She teases. “Soon I’ll know who at least one of your friends is. So I thought I’d start with the murders.” Villanelle nods.

  
  
  


“I could talk about the _rush_ of it all day Eve. The ones that fight- sometimes they make it more interesting. But other times having to subdue someone is a chore. It’s best when it’s almost public- I know you’ve heard of my penchant for bathrooms. _I’ve got a thing for bathrooms.”_ The assassin stage whispers. “I like watching it end if I have the time. The feeling of someone’s life draining from their eyes is unparalleled.” As she talks Villanelles own eyes gloss over the emotion within in them excites Eve. She’s not sure if she’s repulsed by the words coming out of Villanelles mouth or by how interested she is in them “I don’t think there’s words to describe what’s it’s like Eve. You’ll know when you experience it yourself.” Villanelle drops in the possibility of Eve committing murder so casually that it takes a minute for the thought to register in her mind. But when it’s done it resonates and Eve knows she has to speak up.

  
  


“When I stabbed you Villanelle... I didn’t feel a rush...I felt surprised that I had gone through with it. And then I felt awful.” Villanelle shrugs pushing around the last dregs of pasta around on the platter.

  
  
  


“That doesn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t enjoy killing people Eve. It only means you wouldn’t enjoy killing me. It’s because you _care_ about me.” The assassin jeers, pouting her lips.

  
  
  


“I care about you too Eve.” Villanelle’s tone drops all hints of playfulness. “I don’t think you know to how process your care for me. Don’t think that I know how to deal with how much I care for you.”

  
  
  


“Do you like me because I remind you of Anna?” Eve says quietly.

  
  


“At first. But you’re different Eve. You already see more of my true nature than Anna ever did. And when you run away screaming, you are never gone for long.” Then the waiter comes by for the empty dish and while the two women wait for their change the conversation turns to lighter subjects.

  
  
  


It turns out that both women like Game of Thrones though Villanelle hasn’t had much time to catch up on the seventh season while she’s been on the run. Villanelle tells Eve a little bit about her favorite Paris fashion designers and Eve tells Villanelle about her work life before Carolyn had picked her up. She avoids mentioning Bill even though she doesn’t know if Villanelle would remember him by name. The pain is still too raw. She talks quite a bit about the annoying in and outs of having Frank as a boss and doesn’t protest too much when Villanelle cracks a joke about saving all of his division from when she killed him.

  
  


It’s three in the afternoon when Eve and Villanelle head to the beach. Villanelle wants them to get to her friends house with plenty of time before dark so they don’t take the time to find a public bathroom to change in.  It’s much warmer than London this time of year so Eve would have loved a quick dip. But it’s still plenty soothing to walk along the rocky shoreline feeling the salty sea breeze coming off the water. Villanelle wades in up to her knees holding the hem of her dress above the water. Eve walks backwards to join her enjoying the beauty of the city above from this angle.

  
  
  


“I’m glad that you’re here with me.” Villanelle tells her.

  
  
  


“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.” Eve teases flicking water from her fingertips at Villanelle. The younger woman laughs and kicks the surface of the water blasting Eve in the face. Afterwards they sit on the warm rocks and sunbathe for a while Villanelle taking the opportunity to read some more of her book. Eve just stares at the cloudless sky questioning things she believed she’d always know.

  
  


When the pair finally leave the beach pleasantly sun drenched Eve expects Villanelle to hail a taxi. Instead they walk a few blocks to a rental facility.

  
  


“My friend values privacy.” She offers while they wait in the annoyingly long rental line. In the end they lease an inconspicuous dark blue Renault twingo. It certainly wasn’t Villanelles first choice but she takes the lack of availability in stride and soon they’re off. Villanelle takes them out of a city to what she explains is a uncommonly private neighborhood in the hills.

  
  
  


There’s an wrought iron gate around the front of the property framed by shrubbery. Villanelle mumbles something about inconveniences but luckily, upon further inspection, the gate isn’t locked. Eve has her suspicions as the car travels along the winding path of the cobblestone driveway but it isn’t until Villanelle turns the final bend and she gets her first glimpse of the house that she knows. Villanelle’s friend is filthy rich. The house itself is two stories high a blend of French country stone design and striking interwoven modern details. The second level features a wall made entirely from glass through which Eve can make out what looks to be a grand piano. She doesn’t recognize the brand of the car parked out front but she can tell by the sleek silver exterior that it cost more than she makes in a year.

  
  
  


“Did I mention they’re loaded?” Villanelle snickers as she parks the car.

  
  
  


“Jesus Christ…What the hell does he do for a living? ” Eve mutters to herself.

  
  
  


“Born into it as far as I know.” Villanelle smiles.

  
  
  


The two women make their way to the front door arms laden with shopping bags and Chez Marco leftovers. There’s an oversized wreath hanging on the door woven with fresh picked brightly colored flowers along with a battered English wicker welcome mat that looks out of place with the rest of the decor. Eve’s eyes focus on a fraying piece of wicker as Villanelle rings the doorbell. She’s nervous.

  
  


There’s a three minute period of awkward silence before the door is finally opened. The man standing behind it is nothing like the polished person Eve would have expected to live in a house like this. He looks younger than Eve but substantially older than Villanelle. His eyes are heavy with leftover sleep, his movements sluggish. Red flannel pajama pants and lack of a top to hide the faded scar across his abdomen taken into account, Eve figures they’ve just woken him up from a afternoon nap. There’s also a  dog ferociously barking in a tone that’s much to low for it’s tiny size struggling to get at them from behind the man.

  
  


“Hey Brutus! Get back!” The man mumbles sliding around the chihuahua to close the door behind him as he steps unto the porch.

  
  


“I’m sorry do I know you?”

  
  


“I’m a friend of your husband.” Villanelle explains. The man puts a hand on his hip not so subtly grasping at the wooden hilt of a pocket knife that’s peeking over the top of his waistband.

  
  


“You’ll have to excuse my caution.” He says his tone dripping with sarcasm. “My husband doesn’t have many friends. And the ones he does have don’t always make the best company.” The man frowns. The sour look on his face...He reminds Eve of someone, she just can’t quite put her finger on who.

  
  
  


“Will? Who is it?” An accented male voice calls from inside the house. There’s a growing sense of unease Eve can’t pinpoint as footsteps draw closer to the door. When the other man steps through the door tall, European, a couple of years older than Eve, the realization hits her like a semi truck.

  
  


“Ah! The murder wives.” The older man addresses them, a hint of a smile on his face.

  
  
  


“You still keep up with Tattlecrime?” Villanelle laughs.

  
  


“Avidly.” He reaches a hand out to Eve and she snaps out of her freeze, stumbling backwards off the porch. Because the men on the steps aren’t just wealthy French recluses. She’s standing in front of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter.

  
  


Eve remembers when the initial reports of Hannibal’s arrest made headlines. She’d already been immersed in the true crime genre and although Eve had never been as obsessed with male serial killers as their female counterparts she still had every seedy tabloid site that covered the case bookmarked on her laptop. She’d watched the three ring circus of Hannibal’s trial along with the rest of the world, read every conspiracy theory on the intentions of the FBI profiler who’d helped put him behind bars. And when the two men had eventually disappeared three years later she’d gobbled up every scandalizing Freddie Lounds article on the duo. She’d heard the rumors of course, vigilante killings of gutted child predators in Brazil, suspicious deaths of rapists left castrated in the streets of Antigua….

  
  
  


But Eve hadn’t really believed Freddie Lound’s  tall tales woven about an organized tag team killing of the dragon followed by a fakeout plunge into the Atlantic to cover up two men she’d dubbed murder husbands going on the run. She’d believed what had been publicized, the _official_ explanation of the FBI. Will or Hannibal or an unintentional combination of the two had murdered Francis Dolarhyde. Then they’d turned on each other battling before falling over the cliffs and dying from their respective injuries, bodies swept far out to sea or taken by the local marine life. Other than the occasional Tattlecrime article or YouTube documentary Hannibal had faded from public consciousness. And from Eve’s.

  
  


She certainly hadn’t expected to find the man alive and well in a snazzy mansion. From the way Hannibal’s arm is possessively curled around Will bare waist it seems like Freddie Lounds hit the nail right on the head with her relationship theory. With everything she has gone through on her hunt for Villanelle Eve had figured there wasn’t much that could shock her at this point. Clearly she’d been wrong. There isn’t much she can do about the situation so Eve sits down on the cobblestones and disbelievingly watches the strange scene of introductions play out.

  
  
  


“Villanelle this is my husband Will. As you can see he’s woefully underdressed. We weren’t expecting visitors tonight. You’ll find he cleans up surprisingly nicely.” Hannibal teases. Eve looks at the two men wondering how the hell they’ve been traipsing around Marseille unrecognized. Both men have new hairstyles. Wills curls are a lot fuller, falling nearly into his eyes. Hannibal’s is longer than Eve remembers from the courtroom sketches and much more unkempt. Will’s sporting a beard and Hannibal’s got a salt and pepper thing going on with his roots but they’re still easily identifiable if you know who you’re looking for. Of course it’s been a few years since the height of their popularity and you’d hardly expect to find a cannibalistic serial killer and his lover out in the open in the sunny south of France.

  
  


“Will this is Villanelle. She’s an internationally experienced assassin. Has garnered quite the reputation in Europe as of late.” He acknowledges and Villanelle beams, ecstatic at the tidbit of praise. “We met in the Palazzo Capponi. She’d been drinking-”

  
  


“You don’t have to put it so delicately Hannibal! I was drunk off my ass and careening around his precious museum after hours!” Villanelle cuts in.

  
  


“Yes you were. She reeked of freshly spilled blood and well earned triumph. Naturally I had to interfere.” Hannibal and his husband lock eyes and share a quiet laugh filled with implications Eve doesn’t bother trying to understand.

  
  
  


“It will be lovely to catch up in person Villanelle though I must admit I am especially interested in getting to meet your new companion.”

  
  
  


“Eve looks pretty overwhelmed right now.” Will warns. “We should give her space.”

  
  
  


“Should we give you two a moment alone then? Will is already pulling the pair back towards the door.

  
  
  


“We’ll be just a minute!” Villanelle reassures the couple before marching over to Eve.

  
  
  


“What the _hell_ Eve!” She hisses. “You’re making me look bad! I don’t want them to think you’re some shell shocked baby I’m forcing to come with me. He’ll think I talked you up!”

  
  
  


Eve’s jaw drops. She stares at Villanelle who’s standing with her hands on her hips tapping her foot impatiently. Then Eve completely loses it.“Are you seriously _lecturing_ me because I wasn’t scrambling for a chance to shake Hannibal fucking Lecters hand! What do you mean what the hell Villanelle! You just dropped me in front of a cannibalistic psychopath with no warning! What did you _expect_ me to do?”

  
  
  


“If I had told you where we were would you have come with me?” Villanelle asks point blank. Eve stays quiet but the look on her face  gives her position away. “Of _course_ you wouldn’t have. I wanted to show you a success story Eve! He truly does love his husband. You have to admit their story is very emotional.”  Villanelle mimes wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  
  
  


“That’s so not the point and you know it.” Eve grumbles. “They _eat_ people Villanelle! How the fuck do you know they aren’t planning to eat us right now!” Villanelle shakes her head.

  
  
  


“You need to relax Eve Polastri. Hannibal only eats people he finds rude.”

  
  
  


“Villanelle....that’s our problem.” “You’re one of the rudest people I’ve ever met.” The other woman rolls her eyes.

  
  


Eventually she lets herself be coaxed inside the mansion morbid curiosity for a firsthand looks into the lives of the darker one percent getting the best of her yet again.

  
  


“If I keep following you into dangerous situations for fascination sake…I’m going to die one day.” Eve points out as they cross the threshold.

  
  


“Oh quit whining. You know I’ll protect you.” Villanelle responds.

  
  


The floorplan is the definition of open. The first level seems to be an oversized living room populated mainly  by cushy chairs and round settees. There’s a corner couch with an abundance of throw pillows that’s currently occupied by what can only be described as a _pile_ of dogs. Another dog, a type of setter, is lying beneath a unlit stone fireplace. The two features of the room that stand out the most is the large metal bust of a stag and a mural that makes Eve want to bolt. The mural features a gorgeous brunette woman draped in white. Her outstretched arms and golden halo make it possible to mistake the art for a religious period piece until you spot the slash in her neck and the blood trail down the front of her dress.

  
  
  


“Isn’t that-”

  
  


“Abigail Hobbs. The daughter.” Villanelle finishes her sentence.

  
  
  


“It’s so morbid..”

  
  
  


“It’s so detailed.” Villanelle counters tracing a long finger along the young woman’s face.

  
  
  


Eve leaves Villanelle to examine Abigail and walks towards the set of sliding glass doors leading out to the backyard. The first thing she can see is s swimming pool, lanes long enough to be Olympic sized. [Even serial killers have to keep fit somehow she supposes] Rows of plants in a spacious garden take up another corner of the yard. Past everything there’s a cliffside veranda with a swinging hammock overlooking the wide expanse of the ocean.

  
  
  


“Quite the set up right?” Villanelle startles Eve coming up from behind and swinging a convivial arm around her shoulder. “I’m _definitely_ getting some ideas for our place.”

  
  
  


The two women retrace their steps through the living room and up the winding teakwood staircase to the second level. Will Graham is sitting at the island in the center of a kitchen that’s even more over the top than the living room downstairs. Granted an elaborate kitchen is something Eve would have expected. After all, this is the home of a mass murderer whose main claim to fame is the _unique_ [to say the least] ingredients he used at his FBI renowned dinner parties.

  
  


In the time it took for Villanelle to talk Eve down and their impromptu first floor tour Will has changed into a blue button up and a loose fitting pair of gray slacks. He still looks far more dressed down than his husband who’s wearing a red checkered suit with a paisley undershirt. It’s clear the man is still insistent on remaining as unnecessary fashionable as he was when gallivanting around Florence.

 

  
  
In the first few months after his capture Eve recalls how the high end fashion blogs had eaten up every picture of the good doctor in his obscenely expensive apparel. It had been a trend to imitate his fashion for a while, among the bored, wealthy, and vapid young adults in big cities. “How to dress like Hannibal Lecter” authors had taglined their blog posts. Eve herself had never seen the appeal but she had been amused to realize they’d come to a point in time where a percentage of the general public took fashion advice from the criminally insane. Hannibal himself is currently standing in front of a double wide refrigerator. The stainless steel doors thrown open to reveal the fully stocked shelves. After some deliberation he pulls out a large jug of water and sets it on the island next to his husband.

  
  


“If you don’t object I think I’ll make you two a drink. You’re certainly in need of one after the stress you’ve been though.” Hannibal tsks as he fetches a bottle from their pantry.  “This is Pastis. Traditional to this part of France. I’m sure Villanelle is familiar with it. Some compare the flavoring to liquorice. it’s quite strong when taken alone but of course we will dilute it. The glasses are in the cabinet nearest the fridge.” Eve doesn’t move. It take a whispered _Eve_ from Villanelle to make realize he’s been speaking to her.

  
  
  


She crosses to the aforementioned cabinet careful to hold the glasses firmly. It isn’t until she hears the telltale clinking that she realizes her hands are shaking. Hannibal watches her, expressionless.

  
  
  


“Thank you.” He takes the glasses from her hands and sets them down. “This drink is best consumed cold and considered a refreshment for hot French days. Most purists forbid ice preferring to use cool water only. But it can be added after the water, in order to avoid crystallization of the anethole, if you prefer it.” Hannibal pours a small amount of the spirit into each of the four flutes adding the water from the jug on top. Villanelle claps her hands as the drink turns from an amberesque color to one of milky yellowish-green. The assassin takes her glass nodding her approval.

  
  
  


“It’s been too long I’ve had Pastis. What brand is this?” She smiles after taking a sip.

  
  
  


“Ricard. Hasn’t drank anything else for the past week.” Will stands and walks to his husband pressing a chaste kiss to his temple as he picks out his own glass.

  
  
  


“It’s Pastis season Will. I am a creature of habit.” The doctor protests turning to catch Will’s wrist as he starts to walk away, drink in hand.

  
  
  


“You of all people know the benefit of trying new things.” Will lets himself be pulled back, relaxing into Hannibal’s arms.

  
  


“And I’m experienced enough to know _exactly_ what I enjoy mylimasis.” Then Hannibal whispers something to Will, entirely in Lithuanian this time. Eve takes the opportunity to pick up one of the two glasses left amazed at the domesticity of it all. Villanelle holds her glass out for a toast and Eve complies looking into the other woman’s eyes as they both take a small sip. Eve’s never liked liquorice.

  
  
  


“This is a drink best appreciated in the sunshine. While we still have the daylight Villanelle I could give you a tour of the garden. Perhaps Eve would like to lie down before dinner.” Hannibal proposes as he picks up the last glass. The two walk off together leaving Will and Eve alone in the kitchen. Will puts away the jug and spirits before turning to her again.

  
  
  


“Jesus Christ.” He snorts at the panicked look on her face. “I can imagine how you must be feeling right now. The only normal person in a house full of killers.”

  
  
  


“I don’t know many _normal_ people who would follow a trained assassin into the lion's den.” Eve takes another sip not sure if she’s trying to appear cultured or unwasteful.

  
  
  
“Good point. I won’t stop you.” Will points to the keyring resting on the pile of discarded shopping bags. Eve had just noticed them herself but the widening of her eyes must have made what she was thinking obvious enough. “My husband will have your Villanelle in our garden for an hour at the least. He’s very vain about his tomatoes. I’ll even make you a sandwich to go if you like.”

  
  
  


“I don’t know if I should trust anything solid from your fridge.” She frowns. This earns her a dry laugh.

  
  
  


“Hannibal had some interesting fermenting methods back in Baltimore so I wouldn’t trust the liquids either.” Eve puts the flute down on the counter grateful for the excuse to stop drinking. “Forget the sandwich then. You can still make your daring escape. She’ll come for you, you’re worth worth that much to her. If she’s worth the same to you then you’ll let her find you.”

  
  
  


“The end result will be the same. Why bother with the rat race.” Eve sulks running her fingers through her hair still tangled from her run along Plague Du Phophete.

  
  
  


“Still. I’m always one for free choice.”

  
  
  


“Even the illusion of it?” She frowns.

  
  
  


“Especially then.” He laughs again before walking into the pantry.

  
  
  


“I’m going to start pulling some things for dinner. There’s a guest bedroom upstairs. Down the hall, first left. And you know where the door is already. If you choose that route.” Eve nods, picking up as much of the shopping bags as she can carry.

 

  
  
The quiet on the empty third floor is almost suffocating. She’s not ready for the resurgence of her inner doubts free from the buffer that is Villanelle’s incessant chatter. She walks past the guest bedroom to a door that’s open. A thin sliver of light escaping through the cracks. Eve opens the door to an office space stocked with mile high bookshelves and two plush chairs facing each other. The filing cabinets marked with names make Eve wonder if Dr. Lecter is still making use of his psychiatry degree. She can see through the bay window to the garden below. Villanelle is in front of Hannibal laughing as she twirls ballet style through his rows of herbs.

  
  
  


It turns out the light is coming from a table lamp someone’s forgotten to turn off underneath which sits a framed photograph. It’s Will and Hannibal sitting together in matching white outfits on some black sand beach Eve doesn’t recognize. In the picture Hannibal's hand is resting on Will’s shoulder. The younger man is laughing at something the older must have said the crinkles beside his eyes softening the hardened face Eve’s used to seeing in the tabloids. Their intimacy is unnerving. She flicks the lone light off and follows the long hallway to the doorway at the end opening and closing it just as fast once she sees the slept in state of the four poster.

  
  
  


She finds a bathroom and another dusty guest bedroom before returning to the one Will Graham originally pointed her towards and collapsing face first into the fluffy covers in an attempt to quiet her spinning head. Eve doesn’t remember falling asleep but when she wakes up she’s confronted by the faint smell of meat. She follows her nose and finds Will and Villanelle conversing around a dining room table.

  
  
  


“How was the nap?” Will smirks not looking surprised that she’s remained.

  
  
  


“Sit here!” Villanelle pats the seat next to her.

  
  
  


“What are we having?” Eve yawns sliding into the seat next to Villanelle.

  
  
  


“Two options Eve. The pairing is not the most conventional but I thought to give you different tastes of traditional Marseille cuisine in the limited time you have here.” Hannibal saunters into the room balancing a tray full of still steaming food.

  
  
  


“You’ll have to forgive his monologues.” Will stage whispers. “It’s been a while since we’ve had dinner guests.”

  
  
  


“And we’re happy to be back in the habit. The first is bouillabaisse. A fish stew.” Hannibal “Here in Marseille, the broth is traditionally served first. In a soup plate with slices of bread and rouille a sauce made up of olive oil with breadcrumbs, garlic, saffron and cayenne pepper. The herbs are all grown here of course. The fish is served separately. Sea robin Rockfish and European conger.”

  
  
  


“And the second option?” Villanelle wonders as he sets their dishes in front of them.

  
  
  


“Pieds paquets. Usually sheep’s tripe and feet served together. Tonight I’ve stuffed each piece of tripe with onions, parsley, garlic, and salt pork before I rolled and wrapped them. The stuffed offal was then stewed in a white wine and tomato sauce.” Hannibal places this tray in the center of the table instead of divvying it outright like the bouillabaisse.

  
  
  


“ _Usually_?” Will teases.

  
  
  


“Ever so perceptive darling. The bouillabaisse is pescetarian. The pieds paquets decidedly less so.” His implication is clear. Something in the second dish recently walked on two legs. The bile rises in Eve’s throat. The artful presentation of the food... Back in the day Eve and Elena had gotten a good laugh out of mocking the poor American agents who hadn’t realized what they’d been eating. But now that’s she’s looking at it Eve knows she would have been none the wiser.

  
  
  


Villanelle giggles. “You’ve changed Dr. Lecter. I thought you’d make us guess which was safe.” She confesses in between bites of fish.

  
  
  


“Eve’s palette has been broadened enough in the past few days. I saw no point on forcing it any wider. I’ve come to the conclusion that unintentional cannibalism is tasteless among friends. ” Will and his husband busy themselves dishing out the tripe unto their own plates. “Though either of you are welcome to partake if you wish. They eat in silence for a while before Villanelle speaks again.

  
  
  


“You’re still killing then?” Villanelle cocks her head and pokes at the pieds parquet with a serving fork.

  
  
  


Hannibal shrugs. “Pigs aren’t exclusive to the Chesapeake Bay Area.”

  
  
  


“When an opportunity presents itself I see no reason to deny it. Is the stew up to standard Eve?” He asks her when she looks up from her food. Half of her broth is already gone. As much as she would love to deny it the fish is delicious. She isn’t getting anywhere near the tripe.

  
  
  


“Yes it’s...good.” She mumbles.

  
  
  


“I should hope so.”

  
  
  


Villanelle leans back in her chair leaving the tripe still sitting invitingly on it’s platter. Eve is somewhat glad eating people doesn’t seem to be on her killers bucket list.

  
  
  


“If you don’t mind me asking, who is that.” Villanelle takes a sip of the sparkling water that’s been set in front of them as she waits for a response.

  
  
  


“That isn’t the most appropriate question for dinner but I do appreciate your curiosity. Perhaps Will could enlighten you while I go prepare us some dessert.” Hannibal stands from the table hovering over the half full tray for a moment. “Are you planning on seconds darling?” Will shakes his head and Hannibal takes the tray with him as he goes.

  
  


“I’ll think I’ll wrap the leftovers in case your curiosity extends further.” He tells Villanelle as he goes.

  
  
  


“It won’t!”” Villanelle calls cheerfully after him. “So Will, whatever did the owner of that stomach lining do to irritate your husband?”

  
  
  


“It was my call actually. And he was a hell of lot more than _irritating_.”

  
  
  


“No more killing dumbasses who don’t tip the waitstaff at fancy restaurants then?” Villanelle pouts.

  
  
  


“That _was_ one of Hannibal’s more petty murders wasn’t it.” Will rolls his eyes. “But no. I rationalize my actions by going after people who do serious harm. Hannibal...adjusts to my standards although-”

  
  
  


“Wouldn’t you think someone deserved to die if they systematically didn’t tip?” Villanelle interjects. “It’s a big fuck you to the hard workers in the hospitality sector.”

  
  
  
  


“What’s your opinion?”

  
  
  


“Am I being payed?” Villanelle finishes off her stew with an unladylike slurp.

  
  
  


“So money’s your only morality then.” Will nods thoughtfully.

  
  
  


“Pretty much.” Villanelle winks.

  
  
  


“Hannibal would love conversation on your limits Villanelle. He’s always had a hard on for individual sense of morality.”

  
  
  


“I don’t like being psychoanalysed. Maybe over dessert.” Villanelle teases. “The question of your pieds parquet still remains.”

  
  
  


“That _particular_ pig was visiting from South Africa. We met the Nkosis at the Fourvière in Lyon. The children were very interested in our dogs and our friendship evolved from there. Mr. Nkosi was the worst kind of abuser. He’d just broken his wife’s jaw and was taking the whole family on vacation to apologize. Fortunately for us whatever luxury makeup brand he was giving her to cover up the bruising was barely passable on her and even less so on their son. Mrs. Nkosi took our suggestion of a wonderful open air market for her son while we took Mr. Nkosi to lunch. He ended up staying in Lyon an extra night to talk pricing on a nonexistent waterfront property while his wife and kids flew home. He never returned.

  
  


“You two travel.” Eve observes. It’s the first thing she’s said in a few minutes they both turn to her, but she says nothing else.

  
  


“Yeah. When we hunt we try to do it at least 100 miles off from wherever we’re living. Using fake names and specific background information help throw local authorities off a bit more. And that’s if the crimes are even reported. Men like Mr. Nkosi aren’t generally missed by the people closest to them. I’d like to believe Mrs. Nkosi has drained his bank account and taken her son on a real vacation.” Will sighs. “We don’t stage the bodies unless we’re a continent away. Nkosi didn’t need a grand tableau. He spent his whole life blinding everyone around him with his flashy cars and big money. Someone like that deserves to die in obscurity.”

  
  
  


“For dessert we’ll be having a petit gâteau.” Hannibal announces when he returns a couple minutes later carrying the new tray. “Chocolate fondant seems like something Eve would be a little more familiar with. Introducing comforting things into new environments has shown to be a extraordinary stress reliever Ms. Polastri.” Eve smiles in spite of herself when the small chocolate cake with it’s garnish of powdered sugar is placed in front of her. Villanelle digs in muttering her appreciation. For a moment all four are quiet again the only sound in the room being the clink of cutlery on the china plates.

  
  
  


“What exactly is your plan Villanelle?” Hannibal asks after she’s finished the majority of her cake. “I will try my best to be accommodating to whatever it is you need as I have previously promised.”

  
  
  


Villanelle throws her hands behind her head and leans back in another display of atrocious table manners. “I have absolutely no idea.” She confesses. “I was hoping you could give us some advice. From one internationally wanted couple to another.” Villanelle reaches out to squeeze Eve’s hand and she yanks it away.

  
  
  


“I can’t imagine not thinking ahead for the occasion. Everything we did to get to this point was planned meticulously so I admit it is a bit disquieting you go through life completely untethered.”

  
  
  


Villanelle shrugs. “You have to learn to go with the flow Dr. Lecter! Unclench a bit!” Eve chokes a bit on her bite of cake filling and Will muffles a laugh with his shirt sleeve.

  
  
  


“You’re great company Villanelle. It’s been ages since I’ve been around someone so crass.” Will smiles. “I’d offer you a place here if I didn’t think you’d go stir crazy.”

  
  
  


“That and the fact that it isn’t necessarily wise to house three of Interpol's most wanted under the same roof.” Hannibal points out.

  
  
  


“Ooh! Are Eve and I in the top ten?”  Villanelle is bouncing in her seat like a hyperactive child.

  
  
  


“So vain! My dear Villanelle, you know as well as I they don’t rank them. It’s been said to create an enviable hierarchy among the fugitives and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

  
  
  


“Unofficially you’re probably up there.” Will holds up his iPhone and scrolls through a couple of pages of search result on their case. “The media buzz around you two is impressive. Freddie’s saturating the market like always but there’s more than a few reputable sources adding their two cents.”

  
  
  


“Let me see!” Villanelle demands midway through snatching the phone. “Ugh! This mugshot is horrid! And outdated!” She whines. “Oh! _Eve_ you look great.” Villanelle shoves the screen almost too close for Eve to see the photo they’ve chosen for most of the articles. It’s a picture from one of her work functions. She can tell from the genuine smile on her face and the lack of dark circles under her eyes that it was taken before she’d even heard the whispers of a new female assassin. Her heart clenches when she recognizes the half cropped arm curled around her waist. _Niko._ She wonders if her husband was the one who’d sent the photo or if they’d scrounged it up from somewhere else.

  
  
  


Eve takes the phone from Villanelle’s outstretched hands and flips back to the main page of search results eyes landing on a video from Tattlecrime. She clicks play as the conversation continues around the rest of the table and is confronted by a pretty redhead with copper colored curls sitting in a studio space.

  


_Scorned husband of M16 agents speaks out!_ _Freddie Lounds joined in live radio interview by Niko Polastri._

 

_Freddie Lounds: Mr. Polastri you are the left behind husband of missing MI6 agent Eve Polastri who vanished after following a new lead on a case. A case that some within MI6 believe she had become intensely invested in. Witness accounts claim that Mrs. Polastri defended the murderess in question, one Oksana Astankova, after a fellow law enforcement agent attempted to shoot her. We have a source telling us that you wife had a personal relationship with the assassin prior to her attempted arrest. What was your reaction to that allegation?_

  


_Niko Polastri: My wife was thrown into the Oksana Astankova case at great expense to her personal health. In all the years we’ve spent together I have never seen her under so much pressure from her coworkers, especially her boss, and especially from herself as she was in the past few months. Eve was working to put Oksana behind bars both for her high profile crimes and attacks that struck close to home. Her investment was personal because her injuries were personal._

  


_Freddie Lounds: Do you think it’s possible that Eve’s obsession with capturing Oksana combined with the high stress environment of an intelligence agency like MI6 could have left her vulnerable to a shift in her obsession from capturing to finding and joining her? We’ve seen the same phenomena in cases here in the United States. Cases that didn’t always have the best end result._

  


_Niko Polastri: Cases that inspired your cash cow taglines like murder husbands?_

  


_Freddie Lounds: Will Graham’s disappearance is a prominent example yes._

  


_Niko Polastri: I know that Eve is a good person. Someone that wouldn’t help a criminal like Oksana if she was in her right mind._

  


_Freddie Lounds: There are many who believe that Eve doesn’t have a right mind. In your marriage did Eve ever express any dark fantasies to you? Did you ever suspect your wife might be wired a bit differently than the rest of us?_

  


_Niko Polastri: I’m not here to speculate on how Eve got to the point where she is now. We’re not even a hundred percent sure Eve went with Oksana willingly. Hell! I’m not even ten percent sure. I’m here to tell Oksana to let my wife go. I’m here to tell Eve she’s suffered a break and it’s not too late to turn herself in because she’s very sick and needs treatment. I’m here to tell anyone who has any information on Eve to call it in. And I’m here to tell you to fuck off with your T-shirt’s and taglines and speculative headlines on my wife’s sexuality. Profiting off of the pain of my family and others like us is disgusting._

  
  


_Freddie Lounds: Well thank you for being with us today anyways Mr. Polastri. We here at Tattlecrime will update you with any new information as soon as the tips come in. This is Freddie Lounds, signing off._

  
  


When the video ends she sets the phone on the table and closes her eyes. She’s struck by how much Niko still cares playing to every sleazy reporters audience to protect her image, so doggedly faithful. She’s struck by how wrong he is, how little he knows her, and the look he’d have on his face if he saw her now. Eating lava cake and sipping bubbly with wanted murderers like she hadn’t left her friends and family in a world of hurt and uncertainty

  
  
  


“Molly never did interviews. Probably because she didn’t want Walter anywhere near Freddie’s kind of crazy.” Will and Hannibal are on their feet now, clearing the plates while Villanelle picks at Will’s leftover lava cake.

  
  


“Mmm. But mostly because she was intelligent enough to know her time with you had come to its close. It seems your husband hasn’t come to the same conclusion Eve.” Hannibal sees the open uncertainty on Eve’s face. “Or maybe it’s because _you_ haven’t made a decision yet. Do you plan to go back to your husband? After your curiosity with Villanelle is satisfied? Will tried the same. He managed to avoid any sort of prosecution back in the States. Largely due to Jack Crawford’s inability to see anything but the best in Will.” He cocks his head.  “Does Carolyn Martens see what is brewing in you?”

  
  
  


“You know Carolyn?” Eve balks.

  
  
  


“Of course. She consulted on some cases for the FBI long before I knew Will. Whiplash smart, well read, and motivated even back then. I was so pleased when she got that promotion. For a time I had thought she and I would have some, what does she call them?” He pauses for a moment. “Ah yes! Ugandan discussions.

  
  
  


“What the hell are ugandan discussions?” Will raises an eyebrow.

  
  
  


“It’s how Eve’s boss describes foreign agents fucking.” Villanelle smirks.

  
  
  


“Thank you Villanelle, I suppose that sums it up.  We never did. Ms. Martens is incredibly perceptive which is jointly the reason I axed the idea and why I wonder if she knows more about Eve’s mental state than Uncle Jack guessed about Will’s.

  
  
  


“She was suspicious after I met Villanelle in Paris.  I don’t remember much of what happened during the showdown.” Eve admits

  
  


“I gave her too much diazepam.” Villanelle interjects.

  
  


“Learn your dosages Villanelle. It’s always wise to avoid guesswork in the important matters. Back to the question at hand. Unfortunately you can not stay here with us long term no matter Will’s hankering for another smartass like himself.” He stops to grin at his husband. “It is far too dangerous for the both of us. Do you have connections within whatever organization you’re killing for?”

  
  
  


“I fucked them over.” Villanelle winces. “I sold them out so I was free to get closer to Eve.”

  
  
  


“Not to worry. It is always better to be a free agent in this world. I can call in a few favors and get the two of you set up with new identification. Will and I keep a winter home on Varadero and we have properties in Budapest and the Maldives. You would be free to stay there until you get back on your feet.”

  
  
  


“What’s the catch?” Villanelle frowns.

  
  
  


“My concern for your freedom is a strong enough motivation. You are still so young, but so very interesting already. I want to see what you become and I can’t do that if you’re in a cage. Do you find the prospect agreeable Eve? It is not only Villanelle who will benefit from our assistance.”

  
  
  


“Where else would I go.” She frowns.

  
  
  


“Back to your husband of course. Is it safe to assume Carolyn Martens saw Villanelle knock you unconscious and drag you away? There is a case to be made that your actions against the officer were taken out of your concern for the taking of life. That you would have prevented the unnecessary death of any suspect.” Villanelle huffs but Hannibal holds a hand out to quiet her. “Paired with the remainder of drugs in your system you could easily claim Villanelle was holding you captive. There is no chance of you staying on at MI6, but with the right defense you could certainly avoid jail time or a lengthy stay in an asylum. Villanelle would likely follow you. However it would be your choice to let her catch you again.

  


“I gave her the chance this afternoon.” Will laughs. “While you two were in the garden. She asked why she would prolong what was already certain and went upstairs to snoop around.”

  
  


“Ha! She’s too curious to leave me.” Villanelle brags looking at Eve with an expression of unbridled triumph.

  
  
  


“And once her curiosity is satisfied?” Will frowns.

  
  
  


“I’m a woman of mystique Mr. Graham. I will always have something she wants to know.”

  
  
  


“Maybe so.”

  
  
  


The conversation falls back into lighter fare after that. Discussions on movies and acceptable types of wine. They work together, quietly, to clear the table and clean the overworked kitchen. Hannibal and Will wash the dishes while Villanelle helps Eve stack the clean plates and navigate the expanse of cabinets until they discover where they belong.

  
  


Afterwards they go downstairs to the living room and rent a Bollywood film to appease Villanelle’s hunger for a musical number. Will introduces Eve to a golden retriever named Cory who considers herself a lapdog even at 95 pounds. She falls asleep midway through the second act and wakes up to rolling credits and the addition of several more dogs to her lap. Villanelle and Hannibal are gone but Will is sitting on the couch across from her sipping from a mug of hot tea and stroking the setter she recognizes from when she first arrived.

 

  


“Where are Villanelle and Hannibal?”

  
  


“Villanelle went to bed after the movie. Hannibal went to our room to read for a while.”

  
  


“Why are you still up?” She mumbles, still a little groggy.

  
  
  


“I used to have a shit ton of sleep issues in Wolf’s Trap. They’ve gotten a lot better since I left with Hannibal. Nightmares lose some of their power once you’re curled up alongside the man who was the main feature of them. Changing routines sometimes stir new ones up. I wanted to make sure you got to bed alright.”

  
  
  


“Are you _worried_ about me?” Eve asks moving to sit next to him on his couch.

  
  
  


“I get why Freddie sees the parallels between us. I see early versions of Hannibal and I in your dynamic with Villanelle. It’s a goddamn miracle that he and I made it to where we are now without killing each other. I just wonder if you’re going to be able to do the same.”

  
  
  


“She tells me that she wants me to know her. Every part of her.”

  
  
  


“Are you afraid of what you will see?” Will asks.

  
  
  


“Terrified.”

  
  


“Good. I think her psychopathy is a higher than my husbands. That’s not an easy thing to surpass.”

  
  


“Careful you don’t tell her that.” Eve warns. “She hates being called a psychopath.”

  
  


“Hannibal has learned to reign himself in, I’ve taught him that, I’ve made him that. We’ve both changed each other. Can you do the same with Villanelle?” Will brushes the curls off of his forehead as he talks and for the first time she sees the scar they’ve been covering.

  
  
  


“Did Hannibal…..”

  
  
  


“Cut into my skull and almost kill me in the process? Yeah, he did. He was frustrated. One of the rare time I’d seen him lose control. It wasn’t as well publicized as the stabbing I guess.” He lifts up his shirt to run his hand across the other scar there. “I asked him if he would have killed me if he hadn’t been interrupted. He told he wasn’t sure. He only knew he would have killed himself immediately afterwards.

  
  
  


“I stabbed Villanelle.” Eve blurts out. “For a couple of days I didn’t know if she was even alive.

  
  
  


“Did you want to kill yourself afterwards?” Will sighs.

  
  


“I felt hollow and incredibly guilty. I couldn’t function and I couldn’t fool others into thinking I could. I think Villanelle opened a door in me that I can’t shut now. If l left her and went home..I don’t think if I could ever return to normalcy.”

  
  
  


“Hannibal is the first man I have ever loved. At this point I think he is the only person I have ever truly loved in this way. We understand in each other in a bond that is completely foreign to anyone else. I tried to ignore it. I ran. Over and over again. I stayed away for three years Eve. Got myself a wife. Put everything I felt for Hannibal, everything that happened between us in a  box and burned the memories. I was naive enough to believe that I could keep them gone. But the second I saw him through that plexiglas in Baltimore? I knew that wasn’t possible. And when we killed Dolarhyde together I knew I didn’t _want_ it to be.”

  
  
  


“Are you bothered by how people look at what you do?”

  
  
  


“Like I told Villanelle earlier we are all bound by our individual moral codes. I don’t pretend to think the way we live is the next step in human evolution. But I know that this is the way we were created to be him and I, and I won’t let anyone take that away from me.”

  
  
  


“Good on you. If you’re going to be a serial killer at least be one that goes for the abusive douchebags.” Eve tells him through her haze of complicated emotions. She’s still so unbelievably tired.

  
  
  


“You should get some more sleep.” Will gently shifts the setter off his lap and stands. “I don’t know if much of what I said made sense. But I hope you make it Eve, whatever making it means to you.

  
  
  


Eve climbs the stairs and throws open the doors to the guest room fully intending to throw herself at the bed. Unfortunately the bed is currently occupied by a very awake Villanelle who is sitting, legs crossed, reading from a manila file.

  
  
  


“Will told me you’d gone to bed.”

  
  
  


“I told him that’s where I was going.” Villanelle flips through the pages of her file.

  
  
  


“What are you reading?” Eve asks scooting closer to the other woman.

  
  
  


“Hannibal’s new patient files.”

  
  
  


“So he is keeping up his practice.”

  
  
  


“Yes.” Villanelle snorts. “There are so many crazies in Marseille.” She turns the file so Eve can read. “Marionette Edes, high end prostitute. Fantasizes about killing her clients. Especially the pretty ones.” Villanelle faces Eve. “I wonder if they’re drawn to him. It seems unrealistic that he finds this much potential by accident.”

  
  
  


“Everything about him seems unrealistic.” Eve counters.

  
  
  


“You mean the happiness he’s found with Will?” Villanelle places puts her hand on Eve and this time she doesn’t jerk away. “Is it so hard to believe that everyone deserves love? That everyone can find it?”

  
  
  


“People like you and Hannibal aren’t supposed to be able to feel love.” Eve reminds her.

  
  
  
  


“Labels labels _labels_ ” Villanelle waves her off. “You’re so eager to put Hannibal and I in a box Eve. Hannibal has found what love is to him. I have found what it is to me. Love is personal. There’s no single human experience Eve. And we are human despite what some people would like to think.”

  
  
  


“Do I get a choice? What if my personal definition doesn’t include you?”

  
  
  


“Your hypotheticals don’t matter. I already know it does Eve.” Villanelle smiles as makes small circles on Eve’s hand with her thumb. “You can run from it. You can deny it. You can fight it so hard that both of us end up dead. But you can’t make it any less true.”

  
  


Eve takes her hand back and falls to her side on the bed. Villanelle moves to join her. For the third time in the time they’ve known each other they are laying face to face on top of bed sheets having a conversation full of uncertainty. Then Villanelle crosses the line between them and brings their lips together with a tenderness that is pleading Eve to give in. It’s not rough like so many other things Villanelle has done but it still captures the intensity that’s been brewing between them since their first encounter. Eve wants so desperately to pull her closer. Still, she pushes her away.

  
  
  


“Villanelle…I’m not ready.” Eve crawls backwards. She stares at her. Wide eyes messy hair pink lips slightly puffy. Villanelle looks completely content.

  
  
  


“That’s alright. Someday you will be.”

  
  
  


The next morning is much more of a casual affair. Hannibal makes eggs and sausage [Eve makes sure to check the seal on the packaging before she eats any.] and Villanelle makes coffee. They take their breakfast out to the veranda. Will and Hannibal lay tangled up together in the hammock bickering goodnaturedly  in French about national soccer teams. Eve thinks the sunrise over the water is one of the most beautiful things she’s ever seen. She’s on the verge of a becoming but right now this peace is what she needs. And Villanelle will let her have it.

  
  


Hannibal has the documents delivered by mid-afternoon. They leave before lunch. Just before they reach the door Hannibal asks if they could have a photo together.

  
  
  


“For our albums!” He reasons when Villanelle raises an eyebrow. They pose together beneath the fireplace Eve on the  left, far away from Abigail’s mural. She wonders if the two dogs curled at their feet also make the cut. “Send me your mailing address and I’ll forward a copy.” Hannibal offers Villanelle before he hugs her goodbye. Will reaches out a hand to Eve and she takes it.

  
  


“Good luck Eve.” Is the last thing he tells her before they drive away.

  
  


_Proof of survival! Photograph reveals secret meeting of TWO pairs of criminals presumed dead!_

  


_At seven thirty five this morning the Tattlecrime office received an envelope containing a handwritten letter from a man who claims to be Hannibal Lecter. Preliminary comparisons of the letter to writing samples suggest the letter is credible but it is the attached photograph that has left those familiar with the cases truly shaken. The  photograph [pictured at bottom] depicts a greying Hannibal with his arms tightly wrapped around a very scruffy looking Will Graham, a smiling Oksana and Eve Polastri who is completely unrestrained. The four are picture in front of a tasteful stone fireplace and joined by two medium sized mixed breeds. Eve’s appearance in this photo is damning evidence against the hope held out by family and friends who had previously held firm to the theory that  Mrs. Polastri is being held captive by Ms. Astankova. It is also an important victory for those who have been publicly ridiculed for merely suggesting the bloody footprints leading into the Atlantic were not the end of the murder husbands. Local authorities have been dispatched to the mailing address in Dresden Germany but do not expect to find the pairs._

_Hannibal’s letter is as follows:_

 

_Dear Ms. Lounds,_

 

_I think you will be pleased to know that Villanelle* and her companion Eve Polastri are safely out of the country. I quite enjoyed the time I spent in their company and would not want you to believe that the comparisons you have made between us has gone unnoticed or unappreciated. As profiled those distant years ago I am a frequent reader of your work. There are times when I find genuine enjoyment in your sensationalized headlines and illogical claims. I have even once bought Will one of your most popular tagline t-shirts. [much to his chagrin] For no explicit reason other than as a sort of reward for you amusing coverage I have included a photograph taken by tripod of the four of us enjoying an especially lovely summer afternoon, alive and well. Do with it as you will._

 

_Best of wishes, and hope that you are well._

 

_-Hannibal Lecter-Graham_

 

*preferred name of Oksana Astankova.

 

Have an idea about why the rendezvous occurred? Feel free to post your thoughts in the comment section!

  


-Freddie Lounds [Tattlecrime.com]

  
  
  


Eve exits Tattlecrime and closes her laptop taking a moment to stretch in the early morning sunshine on her balcony in Budapest. It’s been two months since they’d come to Hungary. Villanelle as Nicole Tóth, a hungarian graduate school student and Eve as her newlywed American wife Emma who is currently working towards a doctorate in criminal justice. Villanelle had found it hilarious that Hannibal had them married, Eve decidedly less so. The two women have taken time for themselves. Villanelle exploring the city while Eve befriends the other families in their apartment complex. They’ve also taken time to get to know each other both in the abstract why the hell Villanelle is so fucked up sense and the more traditional coffeehouse dates. Eve still isn’t at the point where she can truly give herself to Villanelle. But she gets closer every day. And she knows Villanelle will wait until the last of her hesitations melt away.

  
  


Eve enjoys being a student again. Villanelle enjoys being a part of the student activist group who infiltrates local Neo-Nazi organizations and beats the crap out of the members. It’s still problematic but Villanelle hasn’t murdered anyone yet and, for the most part, life is peaceful.

  


She takes out her phone and pulls up Will’s contact information. She’d gotten Villanelle to ask Hannibal for first thing when they’d first gotten cell phones. He’s listed under the “Stockholm syndrome support group” a joke that pissed Villanelle off when she’d decided to go through Eve’s phone. She scrolls through her recent texts and sends Will the screenshot from earlier.

  
  


_Eve_ : _look what your gossip of a husband decided to send to Tattlecrime!!_

 

_Will: oh god..._

_Will: he read it to me this morning but I was hoping you two  wouldn’t see it for a couple days._

_Will: is Villanelle raging?_

_Will: swear I didn’t know about it beforehand_

 

_Eve: why would she be? She loves any opportunity to show me off._

 

_Will: hold on a second_

_Will: what the fuck is that!?_

_Will: “extremely scruffy looking Will Graham” Huh. Hannibal glossed right over that part_

 

_Eve: Freddie doesn’t pull her punches._

 

_Will: she’s had it out for me since day one. And I’m not scruffy. Just a lot more relaxed._

 

_Eve: Or maybe Hannibal’s too polite to tell you that your hair is starting to look like a mop brush._

 

_Will: possibly._

 

_Eve: got a seminar today. I’ll text you how it goes._

 

_Will: alright . Hannibal’s taking me sailing. If I don’t answer we might still be out._

_Will: he’s packed a picnic_

 

_Eve: ………….._

_Eve: ok understood_

  
  


The Tattlecrime article doesn’t put a damper on Eve’s mood except for a slight shred of annoyance at Hannibal’s ulterior motives for the photograph. Eve’s made her peace with the fact that she can never go home. Came to terms with the fact that she doesn’t necessarily want to. By the time Villanelle returns from the P.O. box they’ve set up to accommodate Villanelle’s abundance of online shopping orders Eve is dressed and ready for her 10 AM class, hair pulled back into a low bun.  
  
  


“Wear it down Eve. It looks better down.” Villanelle complains as she hands Eve a fancy envelope.

  
  


“As a puffy hair fetisihist your opinion is inherently biased.” Eve teases while she opens the letter. Inside is the photograph she’s just seen on Tattlecrime the only difference being the date and location written on the back.

  
  


“They finally sent it!” Villanelle grins. “We’ll go buy a frame from the antique place after I get off of work.”

  
  


“We’re not the only people they sent it too.” Eve pulls up the article on her phone to show Villanelle, taking a snapshot to send to Will later.

  
  
  


“Oh Hannibal.” Villanelle says fondly. “Always stirring the pot.”

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism and feedback is appreciated :) *this one hasn’t been as heavily edited as some of my other works so there may be some grammar issues*


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